Quit Trying to Make Atlantis Happen
by The General G of K
Summary: While searching for the famed city of Atlantis, Drake and the gang are captured by Lazaravec and Eddy Raja. The gang's not too pleased. Neither are their captors. [Ensemble Piece]


**Quit Trying to Make 'Atlantis' Happen**

_By: _The General

**Pairings: ** implied Nate/Elena, Chloe/Flynn, Chloe/Cutter; mentions of Nate/Chloe; ensemble

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the _Uncharted_ series. All of it, including these characters I love belong to Naughty Dog.

**Description:** While searching for the famed city of Atlantis, Drake and the gang are captured by Lazaravec and Eddy Raja. The gang's not too pleased. Neither are their captors. (Ensemble)

**Rating:** PG-13

**TG/N:** I think it's been documented before, but just in case it hasn't: I love the _Uncharted _series. What makes me sad is the lack of ensemble fic for the fandom because I truly love all the characters and their interactions. Rather than waiting, I figured I'd write one. This turned out a mite more ridiculous than I had intended, but overall, I'm kind of okay with that, and I'm happy with how this turned out. This takes place in an AU _Among Thieves_ and serves as a sort of back story for how they met Cutter (whom I also love). Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

* * *

"They told me, '_It'll be just like a vacation._' '_You'll have fun_,' they said. '_There'll be loads of scantily clad women; it'll be the find of a lifetime, mate_,' YOU said," he directed at Flynn angrily, mimicking his accent as he did so.

Flynn chuckled, the shackles holding his wrists above his head rattling as he did so. "Well, I was at least halfway right." With a slight tilt of his head, he gestured toward Chloe and Elena, both of whom were wearing swimsuits.

Elena let the gesture slide, but Chloe rolled her eyes. Or, at least, Nate thought she did. It was hard to tell behind her sunglasses. "Sod off," she threw back halfheartedly. A piece of hair fell into her face, but like Flynn, her wrists were shackled above her head, so she did her best to try to blow it out of the way.

Ignoring her, Flynn continued, "Don't beat yourself up, mate. Our search for Atlantis wasn't entirely unsuccessful."

Nate frowned. "I'm sorry, _Flynn_, but which part, exactly, of being kidnapped and chained up in the storage of some psychopath's truck sounds even _remotely_ successful to you?"

"Okay, so maybe the last part of the plan didn't work out very well—" Elena admitted, her voice calm and even.

"—Plan?" Sully chimed in. He, too, was in a bathing suit and Havana shirt, though he was not nearly as appealing as the ladies. "As I recall, there wasn't so much a plan as there was a grenade." He looked pointedly at Chloe from under the brim of his straw fedora, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Yeah," Nate laughed humorlessly, "Chloe has a habit of confusing the two."

She had the audacity to look highly affronted. "_Excuse me_, but that grenade probably saved your lives. Who does reconnaissance work at a _beach_ anyway? You're exposed to the elements as well as any sniper worth his weight in salt. Plus, you can't possibly conceal a weapon while wearing a swimsuit. Good thing I thought ahead." She indicated the long, khaki cargo shorts covering the bottom half of her maroon bikini. Before their captors did a thorough pat down of everyone, her shorts expertly concealed her .45. "Otherwise," she continued, "I'd be like Indiana Drake over there, with my shoulder holsters out in broad daylight, practically announcing, '_I'm a petty thief; ask me how!_'"

Sully and Flynn snickered quietly while Elena tried to hide her smile by biting on her lower lip.

Ignoring them, Nate protested with a glower, "The beach was not my first, second, or third choice, believe me. But it was the closest we could get to tourists—"

"—and the bar—" Sully added pointedly.

Nate nodded. "—right, _and_ the bar—so that Elena's camera didn't look so out of place while she was filming."

Elena scoffed. "Yeah, a fat lot of good it did anyway. All of my footage—including anything related to Atlantis—was destroyed when Lazaravec smashed the camera." For good measure, she narrowed her eyes at Nate. "That's two you owe me there, tough guy."

"Two?" he asked incredulously, smirking. He closed his eyes and let his head hit the wall behind him with a muffled _thud_. "How about I get us out of this alive, and we call it even?"

Despite herself, Elena laughed, her shackles rattling as she did so. "Tempting, but '_even_' won't pay my rent. Or get me that overdue Pulitzer."

"Oh, c'mon!" He would have been angrier, but he was distracted by how pretty she looked in her tasteful, purple swimsuit. "You can't possibly blame me this time. How was I supposed to know that raging lunatic, Eddy Raja, was going to open fire on us at a public beach, during the middle of the day?"

"Maybe it's just me," Flynn intruded, "but I would think that both '_raging_' and '_lunatic_' are adjectives that would lend themselves toward knowing just that."

Nate's face fell, his patience disappearing altogether. "Shut up, Flynn. It's not just that. You were just as surprised as I was when Chloe pulled the pin out of that grenade." He paused and took a moment to glare at Chloe, his annoyance evident. "For the record, my shoulder holsters were a hell of a lot more inconspicuous than that thing."

For about half a second, it looked as if Chloe would simply ignore the comment and let it go. But she didn't.

"You are unbelievable!" she cried. "It's never '_Thanks for saving all our lives, Chloe_,' or '_Thanks for coming prepared, Chloe_,' or even, '_Thanks for risking your life to save others, Chloe; you're so gracious and noble_.' No! It's always blathering on about that _bloody_ grenade!"

By this time their voices had escalated to such a high volume that a sharp rapping occurred, as if someone in the cab of the truck was pounding on the metal dividing them from their prisoners.

"_¡Oyé!_" came the muffled whine of Eddy Raja from the other side. "I can hear you all the way up here. Get your pathetic group in line, Drake, or else I'll slit your throat. Lazaravec never said whether he wanted you alive or dead, _pendejo_!"

"_Bite me, Eddy!_" Nate snarled back, before hanging his head in defeat. "And while you're at it, tell Lazara-_bitch_ he can join in on the action, too!"

Other than the low murmur of unintelligible conversation coming from the cab, the back compartment fell silent. That lasted for all of two minutes, tops.

"Well played, Nate," Chloe interjected, her head resting on the wall behind her. "Generally insulting your captors with clever puns works _really_ well in the long run. And you did it with such grace, such dignity!"

"Yeah," Sully agreed, a faint smirk visible, "there was a real class about it, kid."

Annoyed, Nate frowned. "Heh. That's cute. You both discovered sarcasm. The two of you should take your act on the road. They'll call it '_The Old Man and the_ Chloe.'"

"A Hemingway reference." Flynn chuckled to himself, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Now _that's_ classy."

Unable to come up with something more clever, Chloe offered up a weak, "Shut up, Harry."

Sully, on the other hand, laughed, and joined in. "Nah, the kid might be onto something here. What about '_The Sound and the_ Frazer?'"

Elena offered with a smirk, "Or the alternative: '_The_ Sullivan _and the Fury_?'"

"Oh, I like that," Sully concurred with a smile and a wink in her direction. "Gives it a certain air of authority."

"A certain air of egotism, you mean," Drake corrected, not unkindly. Sully shrugged; Elena snickered.

"Ooh, I've got it!" Flynn declared excitedly. "What about '_A Tale of Two_ Chloes?'" When there weren't as many cries praising his genius, as he would have preferred, he prodded them with a wide grin, and an emphatic, "Eh?"

"Nice," Sully offered, with a nod. He grinned crookedly. "I'd tip my hat to ya, if I could. Though you do lose some points for not including the real star of this act."

Chloe's bangs fluttered as she let out an exasperated sigh, clearly unamused. Drake could just barely see her roll her eyes over the top of her sunglasses. Turning toward Elena, she posed the question, "Do you see what I must deal with on a regular basis? Honestly, Harry, you're even more immature than _he_ is."

The he in question was Nate, and she indicated as much with a nod in his direction. Nate barely noticed, though, seeing as he was totally preoccupied with something else. While Flynn attempted to make his amends ("Have you ever actually _seen_ a list of Dickens' work? You're lucky I got off a _single_, eligible pun."), Nate tried to get everyone's attention. "Heh, you guys . . . '_Huck_ Flynn.'"

Chloe's whole body slumped in defeat. "I stand corrected."

That sent Flynn into fresh peals of laughter himself. When he was able to catch his breath, he retaliated with, "Hold up, mate, even better? '_The _Drakes_ of Wrath_.'"

The two, both laughing, continued to banter back and forth, with each pun even more ridiculous than the ones before them. Unable to exhibit patience any longer, Chloe finally broke.

"Look, I'm sorry to interrupt this little literary yuck fest that seems to have developed," she practically shouted, "but in case any of you need reminding we're still cuffed"—She rattled her shackles for emphasis.—"in the back of a moving vehicle because we have been _taken prisoner_ by a Serbian _war criminal_ and his vertically challenged Hispanic friend! Realistically, this should elicit some form of panic and resistance rather than _TWENTY MINUTES OF PUNS BASED ON CLASSIC AMERICAN AND BRITISH LITERATURE!_"

The entire back of the truck proceeded to shush her. "_Get a grip, Frazer_," Sully hissed.

Flynn nodded. "Yeah, keep it together, love, and if it helps, focus on the fact that should our captors decide to execute us, you'll only have to put up with Drake for a short while longer."

Nate scoffed in disbelief. "Not helping, _Flynn_."

"Guys," Elena finally insisted, "Chloe has a valid point. We're dealing with a notorious war criminal who's killed hundreds, if not thousands, of people. We _really_ need some kind of escape plan here."

While Chloe offered up her sincere gratitude, Nate looked slightly wounded. "Elena, I haven't been just sitting back here idly, adding to the décor this whole time," he assured her with a grin. And maybe a small wink. "I've got a plan."

Despite herself, Elena's face flushed slightly (much to Nate's triumph), but she didn't allow her gaze on him to falter. "That's partially what I'm afraid of," she offered somewhat cynically. "The last so-called _plan_ you had involved parachuting out of a rapidly descending plane that was engulfed in flames."

"Well, yeah," Nate admitted, his confidence undeniably deflated, "but we made it out alive, didn't we?"

"My plane sure as hell didn't," Sully interjected half-heartedly, his head resting on the wall of the truck behind him. Nate would have bet all he had that the old man's eyes were shut behind his sunglasses.

"_Human _personnel," he clarified, an annoyed frown visible on his face. "I was talking about _human_ personnel, Sully. _We_ always make it out alive."

"I'm pretty sure the word you're missing there is _barely_, Nate" Elena pointed out, her own face etched with concern. "As in 'we _barely_ make it out alive.'"

Nate sighed. Grudgingly, he acknowledged she had a point, but he wasn't about to back down now. The whole group was depending on him to get them out of this alive. "Just relax," he advised, with what he hoped was a reassuring glance in Elena's direction. "I'll have us out of here in ten minutes, tops."

"Oh, I know this one." Chloe made a show of shooting her hand in the air as high as her chains would allow. "It's 'Things-Drake-says-in-the-Throes-of-Passion.'"

Though none of his colleagues laughed outright, he could hear their snickering reverberating off the metal walls of the truck. Even Sully, who Nate was convinced had fallen asleep up until this point, had an unmistakable grin on his face. Elena, who had not so successfully attempted to turn her unexpected laughter into a cough, was now having an actual coughing spasm. Chloe, on the other hand, beamed.

"Heh-heh, _cute_," Nate offered sarcastically, his whole face heating up. He hoped his position by the loading door provided enough cover from any light that would reveal his embarrassment. "Now if we could all get back to—"

The truck came to a sudden, violent stop causing everyone in the back to be thrown about. At the sound of angry, muffled voices and two doors being slammed shut, one after the other, the whole back of the truck began to panic. Over the sound of gravel _ping_ing against the wheel beds of the truck, the faint _crunch_ of footsteps sounded from the front.

"In retrospect," Nate whispered harshly, "maybe _shouting_ at us when our captors had asked for silence wasn't the best decision in the world."

Chloe glared at him. "Yes, well, in retrospect, perhaps making puns and jokes among friends rather than coming up with a _bloody escape plan_ wasn't your best leadership decision _either_," she hissed, the same piece of hair falling into her face again.

Not one to know when to leave an argument alone, Nate insisted on getting in the last word. "Yeah, well in retrosp—"

The loading doors to the back of the truck burst open and with them came a cacophony of bickering. Nate winced as sunlight all at once blinded him. Regardless, he didn't need his sight to know at least one of the people outside of the truck. He'd recognize that accented whine anywhere.

"I don't care if you're the freaking King of England, you—"

"—Well, technically," the other man interrupted, barely even trying to wrench his arm free from Raja's grasp, "Phillip's official title is the Duke of Edinburgh, or Prince Phillip, if you like. Has been since 1957 when—"

"_Aye, idiota!_" Eddy followed his insult by hitting the other man on the back of his head with the butt of his automatic rifle. He fell to his knees, a small grunt the only indication of any pain. "Less talking and more getting into the truck!"

The man on the ground struggled to his feet (it was only then that Nate noticed his hands were tied behind his back) before fixing Eddy with a steely glare. He hesitated for only a moment, in which Eddy took the opportunity to shove him forward using his rifle once again. "_Oi_," he barked, stumbling forward. "I'm movin', I'm movin'!"

The group watched as he made a difficult show of trying to climb into the back of the truck without the use of his hands. While he endeavored to join them, Nate redirected his attention to their captor, his eternal pain in the ass.

"So to what do we owe the pleasure of your presence, Eddy?" Nate asked, his eyes finally adjusting to the bright Mediterranean sun. "Lazaravec finally realize he picked the wrong Raja for the job? How _is_ Rika anyway? I haven't heard from her since…well, _you know_."

Sully's face fell along with his head as he shook it. "Aw, no, kid…"

The sound that came from Eddy was barely human as he charged forward. Nate thought for sure he was going to get hit, and other than the _immense_ satisfaction that came with seeing Eddy's face turn five different shades of red, he felt that familiar sensation of readiness and fear that came before an attack. Eddy surprised everyone, however, when he, once again, smashed the end of his rifle into the new guy's back. With no hands to break his fall, he fell flat on his face, a sharp gasp indicating the wind had been knocked out of him.

"You think you are _so_ funny, _Drake_," Eddy spat, his knuckles grasping the loading doors stark white against the chipped blue paint. "Next joke? I put a bullet through his _SKULL!"_

Nate could feel his own pulse pounding away in his head. It was through gritted teeth that he said, "Touch him again, and you'll see me get _hilarious, _asshole."

Eddy merely growled before slamming the doors shut, enshrouding them in darkness once again. The new prisoner was not taking his current situation well, if his next actions were any indication. He pounded on the side of the truck, and snarled, "You're a right _bastard, _Raja!" before sliding down the side into a crumbled heap, defeated.

"If it's any consolation, mate," Flynn threw out into the ensuing silence sometime later, "from the short time I've known him, Eddy Raja's been a _complete _wanker."

The new prisoner snorted unattractively. "You're tellin' me." He gestured toward Nate. "Some warning would've been nice, but I'd've taken a few more smacks to the head if it meant watching that bugger squirm."

Nate had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed. "Yeah, about that, I'm—"

"Nah, no worries," the prisoner assured him, shifting uncomfortably against his bindings. "That line of yours, though? _'Touch 'im again, and you'll see me get hilarious, arsehole.' _Absolutely brilliant. Gave _Dirty Harry_ a run for his money. Great actor, that Eastwood is."

This elicited a groan from Chloe. "Ugh, don't encourage him. It will only serve as fodder for his already over inflated ego."

Almost as if noticing her for the first time, the prisoner turned toward her, paused, and grinned. "Seems a bit harsh, doesn't it, bright eyes?"

Nate watched as Chloe blushed—yes, actually _blushed_—in response to the new nickname. He couldn't help but let a little disgust into his response. "Yeah, just a _bit_, doesn't it, Chloe?"

Speaking for the first time since the truck stopped, Elena cut off Chloe's response (which Nate was sure would include some version of her sticking her tongue out at him very maturely). "So what exactly did you do to get yourself kicked out from the front of the truck, Mr. …?"

The prisoner stared at her quizzically until a look of understanding made its way onto his face. "Oh, I've been absolute rubbish with my manners. Name's Charlie Cutter. I'd offer my hand, but, well, my bindings are complete bollocks."

Not by any means put off by his speech, Elena pressed again, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cutter—"

"—Please," he insisted, smiling as if he hadn't been hit with the butt of a rifle not once, but twice, "call me Charlie."

"Okay, Charlie, then. How did you end up back here with us?" she asked again. Chloe and Nate could be as carefree about the situation as they wanted to be, but she had her concerns. Charlie had done something that had warranted his so-called punishment to be sent to the back of the truck. For all they knew, he could be as dangerous as Lazaravec and Eddy were combined.

"Oh," Charlie offered, almost as if he found the question being asked uninteresting, "that. Well, initially, I was hired on as extra muscle. I've a certain knack for history and an appreciation for antiquities that made my resume stand out, if you will. But Lazaravec, that bloke is _mental_. He sent word to Raja that he wanted the lot of you killed, and that spineless bugger passed off the assignment to me, but I refused."

Sully frowned. "You refused? Not that I'm complainin'—I like being alive, thanks very much—but if what you're saying is true," he began, shifting in his seated position to try to find a more comfortable position, "then you stood to earn what I could imagine to be quite a nice payout. What's the catch?"

"The catch?" Charlie looked puzzled as he fidgeted with his bindings once again. " 'S no catch, mate. Just didn't think you lot were worth the effort, 's all, and I want in on that Atlantis discovery. Plus, I've got this thing. A conscience. Weighs heavily with actions like _murder_, and the like."

Sully still looked suspicious, but Nate visibly relaxed. Finally, one thing went right for them. He wasn't about to be picky; he'd take it. Even if this informal…alliance was temporary at best. He glanced over at Chloe, who was too busy fluttering her eyelashes coyly at Charlie to take notice at much else. Elena, thankfully, seemed as apprehensive as Sully looked.

"Looks like we owe you one," Nate offered warily. He gestured to the bindings around Charlie's wrists. "Please give me some good news: is that rope?"

He nodded. "Yeah, an' it's chafing the bloody hell out of my wrists."

"Well, lucky for us, Eddy's about as thorough at patting prisoners down as he is bright," Nate nodded down at his boots. "I've got a knife in my right boot. If you can reach it, you can cut through your ropes, and try to free the rest of us."

"Yeah," Charlie said, immediately warming to the idea, a smile stretching across his entire face, "that'll work beautifully!"

It took him a couple tries, but after a minute or two, Charlie managed to slide the knife from Nate's boot and began carefully trying to cut through the rope binding his hands together. Nate was transfixed on the whole process (as his freedom hung precariously on whether or not Charlie could free himself), but out of the corner of his eye, he caught Elena trying to hide a smirk, which was slowly becoming not so hidden giggling.

"What?" he asked, a half grin of his own sprouting on his face. Elena had that affect on him.

She looked only mildly embarrassed. "Nothing—it's just, I thought I had something for this," she said, almost wistfully. Then, not two seconds later, the smirk was back, and she simply said, "'Charlie _and the Chocolate Factory_.'"

Flynn caught on first, and he let out a triumphant, "_Ye-es!_" If he had been able to throw his arms in the air in a celebratory fashion, he would have. As it was, he merely shook them, causing his chains to _clink _in merriment.

Nate, on the other hand, rolled his eyes. While he had never been more in love with Elena than in that very moment, it still didn't excuse the lazy execution. "That doesn't even count," he accused.

"Oh, c'mon, that _so_ counts!" she fired back, laughing.

"That's not a pun," Nate pointed out. "It's literally the title of the book."

Sully couldn't stay quiet at that point. "Elena, you know I've got your back, but I think I'm inclined to agree with the kid. Now, if you had said '_A _Cutter-_cut Yankee in King Arthur's Court_,' then that would be a different story."

Chloe frowned. "What fresh hell—?" But she went largely ignored.

"Or if you had gone with '_The _Cutter _in the Rye_,'" Nate suggested proudly, "that also would have been acceptable."

Flynn shook his head and sighed dramatically. "You uncultured Yanks are embarrassing yourselves. Clearly, the correct answer must come from Her Majesty's authors, in which case the correct answer is clearly '_The _Charlie-_bury Tales._'"

There was a general approval for Flynn's suggestion.

"Hold up." Not wanting to be left out, Charlie took a moment to fix everyone with a harsh glare. "If we're going to do this, then we're going to do this proper: '_David _Cutter-_field_.'"

"Oh, dear _God_…" Chloe's entire frame sunk as she realized exactly what was happening.

Charlie then took the opportunity to dramatically reveal that he had successfully cut through his rope bindings. Nate tried to toe the knife out of sight just in case Chloe got any ideas. No one was happier about the turn of events than Flynn.

"And it all comes back 'round to Dickens!" he proclaimed joyously. "I knew it would, mate. I _knew_ it would!"


End file.
